


after midnight

by mercutioes



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, MORE FIREBRANDS FIC, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 08:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: collected fic for donovann swift





	1. hurry up, the moment's fleeting

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. before the wedding  
> 2\. after the wedding  
> 3\. after zinc  
> 4\. commiseration  
> 5\. a fantasy

Donovann takes a deep breath, smooths a hand over his hair for the eight thousandth time, straightens his perfectly-straight tie.   _ It’s just another performance, _ he thinks, willing his palms to stop sweating so much.   _ Just another performance. _

There’s a knock at the door, soft, and Donovann almost jumps out of his skin.

“Am I interrupting?”  The door slides open a crack to reveal Zinc, perfectly pressed in a suit that matches Donovann’s own, dark gray with accents of blue and green – the Southbridge family colors.  It takes Donovann a couple of seconds to gather himself before he says, “Come in.”

Zinc enters the room quietly, closing the door behind him.  He’s  _ handsome _ .  Donovann’s only met him a few times before this, and even then, they’ve always been surrounded by people.  It catches him by surprise how well Zinc cleans up.  A smile tilts the corner of Zinc’s lips.

“I know I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding,” he says, perching on the arm of the couch.  The parlor they’ve given Donovann to get ready in is small and looks like it hasn’t been used once since it was built and furnished.  “But I wanted to get at least a moment alone with you before we get  _ married _ .”

And that startles a laugh out of Donovann – it’s ridiculous, isn’t it, the two of them about to commit themselves for life and not having been alone together once.  He knows that people enter arranged unions all the time, but it doesn’t make this any less surreal.  Zinc smiles at him, fuller now, and his smile is warm and welcoming and Donovann has the sudden urge to kiss him.

“Well,” he says, sitting down on the spotless couch and motioning for Zinc to join him.  “I’m glad you’re here.”  Zinc slides down from the arm of the couch to sit beside him, and their shoulders just touch.  It’s silent for a minute – neither of them quite know what to say.  What do you  _ say _ when you’re sitting with your fiancé who you’ve never had a private conversation with before in your life?

Zinc breaks the pained silence by collapsing in laughter and Donovann can’t help but join him, tension bleeding out of the both of them as they relax against the back of the couch.  Zinc turns to look at him, smile stretched across his face, and Donovann mirrors him unconsciously.  Zinc bites his lip, clearly wanting to say something.  Donovann puts a hand on Zinc’s knee, tries for an encouraging smile.

“I…” starts Zinc, and Donovann watches his broad chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.  “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of everyone.”  He says it all in a rush and he’s just a little flushed and it’s  _ adorable _ and without thinking, Donovann leans in and kisses him.  Just once, chaste and simple.  When he pulls back, Zinc’s cheeks are even redder, and Donovann reaches up to stroke a thumb over the heated skin.  Zinc releases a breath, long and slow.

“Wow,” he murmurs, smile spreading across his face, and it’s the most endearing thing Donovann’s ever seen.  He feels an answering grin on his own lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “Wow.”

And then Zinc leans in again and this time it’s heated, lips moving in patterns exciting and strange.  Donovann’s hand slides into Zinc’s short-cropped hair and Zinc grips his thigh with strong hands and in the back of his mind, Donovann remembers that he  _ barely knows this man _ , but oh, there’s something so sweet about him.

A knock comes at the door and they spring apart, panting.  It’s Zinc’s sister, blue-green suit matching theirs, and she smiles indulgently at them when she sees their swollen lips and heavy breaths.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says, “but it’s time.”

Donovann smiles, presses one last kiss to Zinc’s cheek.

“See you soon,” he says, and Zinc squeezes his hand.

“See you soon,” he replies, and leaves the room with his sister.  Donovann releases a long breath, collapses against the back of the couch, and smiles to himself.

\--

A decade later, Donovann will write songs about a lot of things, but that night remains locked away, untouched.


	2. merely the way you sigh (nsfw)

They stumble into the bridal suite, tipsy and laughing, hands clasped tight and a little sweaty (but neither of them mind over-much).  Donovann’s still got a bottle of champagne in his hand, bubbly and sweet, and he hands it to Zinc, who takes a swig of it.  Donovann’s too tipsy to even try to disguise how he stares at the way his husband’s (and isn’t  _ that  _ a word) lips wrap around the neck of the bottle, and when Zinc catches him, the flush on his cheeks darkens.  Donovann giggles - he can’t believe he’s married a 34-year-old  _ blusher _ .

Donovann doesn’t give him time to put it down before he’s tugging him into a long, slow kiss, swiping his tongue over Zinc’s lips to catch the taste of champagne.  Zinc’s hands slot in at his hips, warm even through his suit.  Donovann pulls back, shucks off his suit jacket and tie and starts in on Zinc’s shirt buttons, leaning in to kiss at each newly-exposed patch of skin, down and down until he drops to his knees, looks up at Zinc through his eyelashes.  His husband’s eyes are wide, pupils blown and kiss-swollen lips parted.

“Donovann,” Zinc breathes, gasps when he runs his lips over the front of his pants.

“Can I?” asks Donovann, running fingertips up Zinc’s thighs.

“Can we --  _ mm! _ ”  Donovann breathes hot air over the crotch of Zinc’s dress pants, can almost  _ smell _ him through the thick fabric.  “Wait, wait.”

Zinc takes Donovann’s hands, tugs him up to kiss him, slow and soft.  Donovann pulls back to look at him, anxiety settling in his gut.

“I’m sorry, did I --”

“No, no!”  Zinc breathes in deep, laughs on the exhale.  “No, you’re amazing, I just… can we just talk?  For a bit?”  Zinc brings their hands up to his lips, kisses Donovann’s knuckles.  “I want to get to know you before we. _. _ .”

And then it’s Donovann’s turn to blush - Zinc’s just so genuinely  _ earnest _ , and Donovann had mentally prepared himself for a lot of possibilities but this wasn’t one of them.  He can’t help but kiss Zinc again, and then a second time.

“Tell me I can at least get out of this suit,” he says, and Zinc laughs.

They spend long minutes in companionable quiet, shedding their wedding clothes and washing the makeup and sweat of the ceremony off their faces.

Donovann comes out of the bathroom to find Zinc lounging on the bed, only in boxers and his undershirt, and he’s never seen Zinc in anything but a suit or a uniform so the sight is  _ jarring _ to say the least.  Donovann swallows, walks over and climbs up onto the bed next to him.  Zinc puts his arm around Donovann’s shoulders, pulls him in to rest his head on Zinc’s chest.

“So,” he says, and they both laugh at the strangeness of their situation.  They’ve had small talk, sure, discussed the basics of their families and histories and careers while surrounded by other people, but now that they’re alone it all seems to dissipate.

“So,” echoes Donovann, tracing absent shapes on Zinc’s stomach.  “How do you feel about kids?”

Zinc breaks down laughing, and Donovann grins with pleasure.

“Not great,” Zinc replies, thumb stroking over Donovann’s shoulder.  “I’ve never been a kids kind of guy.”

“Oh, good,” says Donovann.  “Me neither.”

And then it’s easy, conversation flowing between them like the champagne did earlier - Donovann learns that Zinc had three dogs growing up, that he never learned how to swim, that he’s always wanted to try gardening.  Donovann tells him about his very first performance, about his fear of heights, the tree he used to climb by his childhood home.

It’s nearing two in the morning now, hours lost to their conversation, but Donovann’s still wired - he knows he won’t be able to sleep for a while still.  Zinc’s in the middle of telling him about his Solar Union training years when Donovann leans up to trail slow, soft kisses along Zinc’s jaw, his neck and shoulder.  Zinc trails off, eyes slipping shut and tipping his head to the side as Donovann presses lips to his throat, the soft underside of his jaw.

And this is easy too, as Donovann throws a leg over Zinc’s hips to straddle him, kisses the breath out of him, sighs at Zinc’s wide hands on his back and hips and ass as they move together.  Donovann breaks away, breathless, and Zinc’s not much better off.

“Can I pick up where we left off?”

“Yeah,” Zinc breathes, biting his already swollen bottom lip.  “God, please.”

So he does, kisses down Zinc’s torso and pulls his boxers down far enough to get his mouth on him, taste Zinc’s wetness on his tongue.  He takes his time, relishes the way Zinc arches up into his mouth, the way he moans low and pretty and grips Donovann’s hair.  Zinc shakes apart under him, shuddering and whining, and Donovann’s struck by the fact that now he can do this  _ whenever he wants _ , that they’re  _ married _ , that Zinc is  _ his _ .

When Zinc finally stills below him, Donovann wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, grins up at his husband over the planes of his heaving chest.

“Come here,” Zinc breathes, tugging him up and flipping them over so Zinc’s caging him in with his thick arms, leaning down to kiss him with intent and Donovann whines, clinging to him.  He’s suddenly aware of how achingly hard he is and they fumble together to get the rest of their clothes off, breathless and giggling, sidetracked by skin and mouths and hands.

“Can I ride you?” asks Zinc when they’re finally naked, red-faced and radiant, and Donovann can’t do anything but nod, groaning low when Zinc sinks down onto him, wet and deliciously warm.

It doesn’t take either of them long like this, moving feverish together among the sheets and pillows.  Donovann comes first, spilling into Zinc with a ragged gasp.  Zinc’s close, he can tell, and he captures one of his husband’s fingers in his mouth, scraping teeth along its length, and one more thrust, two, and he’s clenching around Donovann and keening as he comes.

It takes them a minute to catch their breath, another to get a wet cloth to clean themselves up.  Zinc pulls him in, spoons up against his back and Donovann relaxes into him.  He feels  _ safe _ , still feels a little bit like he’s living in a dream.

“I’m glad it was you,” murmurs Zinc behind him, half-asleep, and Donovann smiles to himself, pulls the sheets up over them.

“Me too.”

And the illusion might break in the morning, they might find out that they’re absolutely incompatible, but for just this moment it’s better than Donovann could ever have imagined.


	3. nobody's fault but mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for alcohol-related consent issues and bad grief coping mechanisms

_ He’s pretty _ is what Donovann thinks, tossing back his drink between songs.  The boy at the table in the front can’t be more than twenty-two, young and wide-eyed and certainly not a regular here.  He’s got the air of wealth around him, even if he tries to hide it - Donovann knows what wealth looks like.

And it’s been half a year since… well, since the last time he touched anyone.  And he’s just drunk enough off the whiskey and the crowd that when he starts his next song, he makes eye contact with the boy and winks, plasters his most alluring smirk on his face and takes pleasure in the way the boy’s cheeks darken, visible even in the dim lights and smoke of the club.

He keeps stealing glances at the boy, the heat of his gaze calculated and practiced - he makes it clear what he wants, and Donovann’s gratified to find him waiting at the door to his dressing room when he leaves the stage.

“Wanna come in?” he asks, and the boy stutters an affirmation, follows when Donovann takes him by the hand and tugs him inside.  The boy sits tentatively on the couch, watches him with wide eyes as Donovann pours the both of them drinks.

“What’s your name?” asks Donovann, downing half of his drink in one go.  He’s feeling fuzzy at the edges, fuzzy enough to sit down on the couch next to this boy - too close, almost touching.

“I’m, uh.. I’m Britt,” he says, taking the glass with shaking hands.  “You were, um, really good out there.”  Donovann smiles, lets it become sharp with hunger, and Britt takes a gulp of the whiskey.

“Thanks, Britt,” he says, plucking the drink out of Britt’s hands and setting it on the side table.  “I liked watching you watch me.”  And that makes Britt flush even darker and Donovann doesn’t want to wait anymore, leaning in to kiss him slow and hot.  Britt’s hands come up to rest on Donovann’s shoulders, tentative, and  _ god _ , he’s missed this, missed being wanted and touched and desired.

He slips his tongue into Britt’s mouth, hand in his dark, curly hair to direct him, and Britt whines.  Donovann throws a leg over Britt’s thighs, settles into his lap, grabs Britt’s hands and puts them on his ass.  The world is swimming, one too many drinks running through his veins, and he kisses down Britt’s neck, sloppy and wet, letting his eyes slip shut.  Britt whimpers, pliant and trembling, and Donovann bites at his throat.  It’s dark and warm and Britt’s hands feel so  _ good _ on his hips, his ass, and --

“You’re so gorgeous,” breathes Britt, and the moment shatters around him.  The last time someone called him that it was -- it…

Donovann’s stomach clenches, the lead feeling he’s tried to drown these long months sinking back in, and he’s paralyzed on the lap of some  _ stranger _ and all he can think about is how this kid feels  _ nothing  _ like…

Almost without thinking, Donovann’s up and on the other side of the room, fumbling for a cigarette.  He doesn’t look at Britt, focusing studiously on striking a match with trembling fingers that refuse to cooperate.

“Mr. Swift?” he asks, and his voice is so  _ young _ and Donovann has never hated himself more than he does in this singular moment, guilt settling heavy in his limbs.

“I’m sorry,” says Donovann, and his voice cracks on the words.  “I made a mistake.  You should go.”

He closes his eyes and waits until he hears the click of the door before he turns to face the empty room.  He takes a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling heavy and strained.  He collapses in the chair at his vanity, touches his cheek and is surprised to find it wet.  He doesn’t remember starting to cry, but now he can’t stop, silent tears giving way to full-body sobs until he’s wrung-out and exhausted.

The bottle he keeps in his dressing room is almost empty so he drains it, throat burning from whiskey and tears.  His mind moves in circular patterns, memories flashing and pain and grief and above all the gut-clenching feeling of regret, and he wonders if it will ever stop feeling like this, like there’s a hole ragged in his chest that will never close up again no matter how much he drinks and smokes and fucks and tries to forget.

There’s no way he’s going to make it home tonight, not this drunk and tired, so he collapses onto his couch, pulls his own coat over him as a blanket.

He doesn’t dream of anything, that night - the only blessing he could hope for.


	4. a missing person who nobody missed at all

Camille’s sprawled on the floor of his dressing room, bottle clasped loosely in her hand, hair disheveled and clothes in disarray.  They’re  _ much _ too old for this kind of thing but it’s just too easy to give in.  Donovann’s sitting across from her, up against the vanity strewn with makeup and papers.  He plucks the bottle from her hand, takes a long drink.

“Give me another one,” he says, and she hums, considering.  The possibilities are endless and this is a game that they’ve played a thousand times, but it never stops being satisfying.

“What about poison?” she says, and he laughs, nudges her leg with his foot.

“Classic,” he says, “but too cliche.”  

She kicks him back, giggling.  “You do better then!”

He leans in, conspiratorially.  “I would seduce him and then stab him in the heart with my stiletto.”

She laughs at the image, of Carson’s  _ fucking  _ face, a rictus of surprise at being killed by, of all things, a shoe.  In the back of her drunk mind, she recognizes that this game is  _ ghastly _ , brings out the worst parts of both of them.  But it’s fun in the moment to imagine all the ways she could break free, couching them in sharp, biting wit and morbid humor.

“You know,” muses Donovann, passing the bottle back and leaning over to grab a guitar off a stand, “This would make an incredible song.”  He strums a couple chords, a little rusty - he’s a singer, after all, not a guitarist.  Camille laughs again, scoots over so she’s sitting next to him, rests her head on his shoulder.  He hums a little bit, the first inklings of a melody, and she lets her eyes fall shut.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a while, words running together just slightly, “wanna run away together?”

Camille sighs.  And  _ this _ is a conversation they’ve had a thousand times too, an offer that she just can’t take.  He knows it, sure - it’s impossible with her kids and her status and her  _ goddamn _ duty, but it doesn’t stop him from asking every time.

“I wish I could, sweetheart,” she says, and it feels like the most genuine thing she’s said in  _ years _ .  He pauses playing to press a kiss to the top of her head and drops the subject, continues playing soft and slow.

And later, when she’s ready to leave, she wraps her scarf over her hair and around the lower half of her face - can’t be caught in this part of town, not with the rumors already flying around her.  She promises him again to text when she gets home, leans up, kisses him on the cheek.

“Same time next month?” Donovann asks, a wry smile on his lips, the lines at the corner of his eyes more prominent than ever.   _ They’re getting old _ , she thinks.

“Of course,” says Camille, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders.  “And you’d better finish that song by the time I see you.”

She leaves him laughing in the doorway, an old, familiar ritual that makes the trip home a little more comforting.


	5. you look like friday night (nsfw)

“Fine,” says Donovann, pulling a cigarette from his case and taking it between his teeth.  “I won’t run off again.  Cross my heart.”  There’s a sarcastic twist to his voice but Lee doesn’t really notice, too focused on the way the cigarette dangles from between Donovann’s full lips.  “Do you smoke?”

“Huh?”  Donovann gestures to the case.  “Oh!  Oh, yeah.”

Donovann plucks a second cigarette from the case, passes it to Lee - his hands are delicate, long fingers that brush against Lee’s when he takes the cigarette with trembling hands.  The room is smoky, fuzzy around the edges, but that’s how Donovann’s dressing room always seems to him -- the thick scent of smoke and cologne and old incense blurring his mind.

“Let me get that,” says Donovann, his own cigarette held loose between his lips.  He strikes a match and the sharp smell of camphor mingles in with the other scents.  Lee almost faints when Donovann curls fingers under his chin, pulls him closer so he can light both cigarettes at once.  While Lee’s still reeling, Donovann leans back in his chair, takes a long drag and releases a delicate plume of smoke from between his glossy lips.

Lee jolts back to himself, takes a drag of his own cigarette.  Donovann’s staring at him from under his eyelashes and Lee’s suddenly very aware of his own body, standing there awkwardly in the middle of the dressing room that seems to be closing in on them with every passing second.

“I should get back to --”

“Lee.”  Donovann sets his cigarette down in an ashtray on the vanity, half-spent and still smoking, and stands.  Lee freezes as Donovann steps in close, the scent of cologne and incense intensifying, and he plucks the cigarette from between Lee’s fingers.  “Stay for a minute.”

He brings the cigarette to his lips, pulls deep and puts a hand on Lee’s cheek, and Lee can only watch in shock as he leans in and --

Donovann kisses him, long and slow, prying Lee’s lips open with his tongue to breathe sweet smoke into Lee’s mouth.  Donovann pulls back to look at him, an absolutely  _ filthy _ grin playing on his lips.  Lee stutters something about needing to go,  _ they’ll be wondering where I -- _

But Donovann hushes him, pulls Lee closer by the hips.  “Shh,” he murmurs, close enough for Lee to feel his breath.  “You want me, don’t you?”

“Sir?”  Donovann laughs at that, rasping and fond.

“What have I said about calling me ‘sir’,” he says, and leans in to kiss him again.  To his embarrassment, Lee whines into his mouth, clutching at Donovann’s shoulders and hair.

And suddenly, they’re on Donovann’s couch -- Lee’s spread out in his lap and not sure how he got there, but Donovann’s lips are on his neck and his hands are on his ass and Lee’s  _ writhing _ .  He's hard, painfully so, and Donovann grins against his throat, runs knuckles over the bulge of Lee’s dick. Lee keens, pulls at Donovann’s hair.

“Easy now,” murmurs Donovann, soothing in his ear.  “Just let me take care of you, baby.”

He takes Lee by the hips, flips them over in one smooth motion so he's trapped underneath Donovann.  He doesn't remember taking his shirt off, but Donovann runs fingertips over his bare chest, tweaks his nipple and grins when it makes Lee squeak in surprise.  He does it again, teasing the sensitive skin to make Lee moan and writhe under him.

And then Donovann’s kissing down his chest, beard scraping rough across his skin, and Lee can't fucking breathe.  He hears a high, steady whine and realizes it’s coming from his own throat.  And Donovann finally makes it down to his waist, grins up at him, breathes hot air over the bulge in Lee’s pants, and Lee keens, and --

“Lee!”

Steve's shaking him awake by his shoulder, and he realizes all at once that he must have fallen asleep, slumped over in the break room.

“Come on, kid, your shift’s starting,” Steve says, heading back through the door.  Lee huffs out a breath as soon as Steve’s gone, trying to will away his boner.  Luckily the half apron he wears covers it pretty well.

He heads out into the bar proper, snagging a dishtowel as he goes.  He’s not quite watching where he’s going and bumps right into someone  who steadies him with hands on his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, sir--”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” says Donovann, who hasn’t let go of his  _ shoulders, and Lee can smell his cologne and,  _ fuck _ \-- _

“And don’t call me sir,” Donovann throws over his shoulder, headed into the back room.

Lee spends the rest of his shift thoroughly distracted.


End file.
